Bad habits
by JessicaStarCrossed
Summary: A various collection of one-shots about the nation's bad habits and also how to get rid of it. But, old habits die hard. Everything is possible. I'm open for request and you can choose the pairing too if you like, it have many different genre for each one-shot.
1. Scotland: smoking

**Hello again! I'm on fire now~, can't make myself to stop typing...whatever I was going to type. Haha~, anyways. Welcome to this new one-shot and I really,** ** _really_** **wanted to try this out for a verso long time now! Drums rolls please!... wait for it, wait for it! A ScotMano one-shot! I think those two are so arable together, I was like** ** _fuck_** **, and immediately thought, "I have the most** ** _freaking best_** **idea EVER!" *cackles*. Ahem! Anyways...let's start with the—uh—warnings! (Genius strikes again!) I don't own anything, not the pic I used. I unfortunately don't own the characters I used, they rightfully belong to mister** **Hidekaz Himaruya-sensei.**

 **That's all I have to say~**

 **Enjoy~, please do!**

* * *

 _He smoked, he knew it was a bad habit and everyone around him tell his so. He can't stop—he wished he did, but he just can't!—it's really hard to explain. Scotland loved how the nicotine came in contact with his tongue—it had a special taste that he couldn't deduce—and how his longs burned from it. He's simply put; addicted to the taste._

 _If stressed? Smoke._

 _If mad? Smoke._

 _If angry? Smoke._

 _If feeling confused? Smoke._

 _If feeling distressed? Smoke._

 _If feeling happy? Smoke..? **(#YOLO & #whynot?) **_

Well, for every feeling he felt is smoking his only solution and escape. An exasperate sigh escaped his lips, he felt like he needed a smoke right now—the meeting would begin in a quarter or so. The redhead pulled a pack of Marlboro cigarets—because he needed to attend a meeting in America, rubbish—and searched in his trouser for his green lighter. He lit the cigarette on, protecting it from the wind before taking a long drag from it. He leaned on the cold brick wall, skimming over the garden, his eyes flickering and studying every faces that were visible in his eyesight. He heard footsteps coming closer—it might be some kind illusion or it was his paranoia that kicked in.

He saw a brunet stomping in his direction, hands in his pockets and a weird looking hair curl bouncing wildly with every step he took. It was one of the Italian brothers, which one? He couldn't tell, because he wasn't that much acquainted to them to tell them apart. On the other hand, his little brother and one of the Italians were still very good friends and on good terms even from their childhood—they get along splendid, to say the least.

He heard the latter grumble incoherent Italian before hazel?—no amber..?—eyes looked at him and when the Italian noticed his presence. He stopped walking, his face scrunched up in what seemed to be disgust and disdain, "You know smoking isn't good, right?" The brunet deadpanned, looking at him with a dry expression in his eyes.

"Ah ken, lass, ah ken." The Scot gave in, even if they were nations and almost immune to every diseases and are practically immortal, smoke is a rare _exception_ and it can damage them physically. "I-i' just, ah cannae _stop_." He explained, and it was a (very) lame excuse; he knew it and the lad probably did too. Scotland took another drag, rubbing his nape.

The Italian huffed and crossed his arms, his lips curled in a frown, he clicked his tongue in disdain. He stomped to were the redhead was leaning against, he took the cigarette away from the Scot's lips and crushed it with the sole of his brown leather boot and also taking the entire box and chucking them expertly in the nearest garbage he could find with much grace and finesse in his movement. Such a good aim, he thought. The Italian turned around and faced him once again before simply adding, " _This,_ is a beginning, idiot." The brunet walked briskly away from him and muttering a quiet but audible "Ciao."

The redhead was stunned and he snapped back to reality mere moments ago, "Wait," he yelled, "Whit's yer name?" He called out.

His heart skipped a beat.

The brunet barely turned around, gave him a two-finger wave and a small smirk displaying on his lips before walking in the hallway along with the crowd of other nations that attended this meeting.

The Scot smiled, "A mysterious one, ay?" He mused aloud. He smirked and pulled one more cigarettes out his trouser—for emergencies, he grinned goofy—and lit it up with his lighter.

The sky was blue, the sun was shining and there were no clouds in the sky. How the fuck could it change so drastically?!

It rained cats and dogs a few seconds after he lit one, "Fuck!" Scotland cursed loudly, karma really is a bitch, eh? He heeded back inside, back in the conference room—it was almost time anyways. He was just in time when the meeting was starting again, he sat next to his younger brother. And, And _just_ when he's back inside everything began to clear just like that! The Scot groaned, banged his head against the table and he cursed his luck and _a lot_ of other holy beings and shit.

His younger brothers were all smirking, all had a mischievous gleam in their green eyes. Oh, what a _little_ magic can do.

Admits all the people of countries, a pair of earthy eyes looked at the Scotsman with interest, he laughed quietly to himself and payed attention on the ranting American.

Scotland felt like something— _nae_ , more like _someone_ was staring at him, he peeked from his protective circle of arms, scanning the entire room but there was nobody that looked at him. It must be his imagination.

His breath hitched in his throat.

It's _him_ ; the same man from before. Next to him was somebody that could pass as a replica of him, but not _quite_. He was like the "lighter" version of him. The Scot snorted.

* * *

Scotland was chilling inside their shared house, the British Isles sometimes live together for a week or something—it depends on how they get along. A cigarette was pressed against his lips, he looked out the window, watching the scenery—it's raining again.

He heard the front main door open and being slammed again, "Bollocks!" He heard and a string of curses that follows.

He saw two people coming in the living room out the corners of his eye, he turned his head so he could look better at the persons. They were completely drenched to the bone, they were in a argument.

"I told you that I need an umbrella, bastard!" The Scot narrowed his eyes, he recognized that voice.

"It was good weather when you called!" England snapped, his green eyes blazing.

"Good weather my ass, Arthur!" He retorted with sarcasm. "You own me hundred Euros, bastard!" The brunet sticked his hand out.

The Brit grumbled and searched in his wallet and slammed the money indignantly in the tan hand.

The glared at each other. A loud cough interrupted their contest and made them look at the onlooker, it was _him_. Scotland smiled charmingly, "'Ello, fancy meeting ye 'ere. Ah didn't quite catch yer name last time. Mind tellin' yer name?"

He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "Italy Romano, bastard." He answered plainly, like it was the easiest question in his life to answer.

He smiled amiable, "Nice ter meet ye! Ma name's-"

"Scotland." Romano finished his sentence, "Yeah, I know you bastard." He huffed, "Weird that you didn't recognized me the last time."

The redhead cocked his head to the side, is he supposed to know him?

The brunet rolled his eyes but didn't explain it further, instead, he hinted the unprepared Brit in the head with his fist.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?!" England questioned angrily.

"For you being an old bastard, bastard!" Romano said.

"What I'm not!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

The Scot tuned their bickering, not wanting to hear more of it, he took another drag of his cigarette, hoping that they wouldn't see because they were to enrolled with their argument to even notice. Nope, they did—screw his luck.

Romano snatched his burning cigarette away and his wee brother throwed his box away in the trashcan there nearby. Fucking prats, no respect for their elders—it was meant to stay inside his mind then slipping past his lips.

They both snorted, "We have loads of respect, brother _mine_." The blond replied with sarcasm and venom.

The redhead scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to start making dinner, bastards." Romano announced out the blue, since when was he staying here?

"I'll help you out." England offered but his offer was shot down immediately.

"No! Fuck no! Like I'm stupid to let you near the kitchen, moron." was his blunt and harsh answer.

"It's my kitchen, git!"

"Like I care." He throwed back.

"I was saying about the dessert."

The brunet sighed in exasperation, flailing his arms in the air, " _Fine_! Fine, you can help." He gave in, because the only thing he could do right was baking. Surprisingly, his desserts weren't shit.

The duo made their way in the kitchen, the redhead looked warily around, they wouldn't see him, just when he was trying to lit his other cigarette up a frying pan came hurling in his direction, it flied past him and smacked the wall instead of him. "Don't even think about it, bastard!" Romano warned his tone cold as ice, his voice sended chills down his spine.

When dinner came, and all the brothers were present. The Italian explained why he was here and will be staying for the whole week—something to do with running some errants with their governments, teaching Arthur how to cook properly—and it took a lot of effort for England to bribe Romano for teaching how to cook, meaning ten years free tomatoes, how could he possibly pass at such a wonderful offer?—seeing the sights and some other shit. Throughout the dinner, he would casually feel a pair of watching eyes looking at him, and that made the Scot fidget in his seat from time to time, in a blink of an eye the watchful eyes are gone. He looked around, maybe somebody saw, but no-one seemed to notice.

He sighed and raked a hand through his scarlet locks. This is going to be a long weak, he smiled—but worth it.

* * *

Scotland was sitting on a bench in the Culzean Castle's garden, the sun was out and he really did have a beautiful view of the pond and its nature that surrounded him and the castle was located behind his back. He was dressed in casual clothes; a green pullover over a white dress shirt, black washed jeans and Converse, his khaki trench coat laying neatly folded next to him—it was particularly warm for April, he felt like he would suffocate in it. He took another drag from his newly listed cigarette, the work had been more than ever and he really was stresses out lately in the past few weeks—it was mentally draining him. He took another exasperated drag, running his air in his scarlet locks ad looked in the sky; it was ocean blue with small white clouds.

Somebody sat beside, he didn't need him/her to give him/her his permission to sit down next to him because, after all, it's a public place. "Nice weather, huh?" The man said.

The redheaded Scot recognized that voice; it was smooth and suave laced with an Italian accent and impossible to miss. "'Ello, how yer doin'?" He inquired and faced the brunet that sat on the beach with him, "Fancy meeting ye 'ere." He smiled charmingly, "Whit's yer doin' 'ere?" He questioned curiously. Now he could see the Italian fully, he was dressed awfully formal for going to a place like this; a white dress shirt a few buttons undone so that his necks exposed, a black overcoat over a grey waistcoat, a pair of black slacks, some leather shoes, his wine red tie undone and a black and grey fedora resting on his brown tresses, almost completely shielding his eyes—the way he looked, was like a predator searching for its prey. He pulled that look in a very fashionable way, he could pass as a male model in the best model agency of the world.

"I have some business to arrange." Romano answered simply, but in a vague way.

Scotland snorted and took another inhale of the cancer-stick, "The Underworld is tha' wide, eh." He mused aloud, looking back at the peaceful scenery.

The brunet scowled angrily and snatched the cigarette away, crushed it between his right hand and glared at the dumb Scot who sighed in defeat. "I'm not proud of it." He muttered lowly, his voice grim and his eyes dark.

"An' ah thought tha' ye were admiring the architecture." He joked, laughing amiable.

"I was, bastard, the person who built this construction did a pretty god job." He complimented, his eyes scanning over the park.

"Ay, 'e did."

The brunet pulled his sleeve up, watching his wristwatch and stood on his feet, "I need to go, I have some business to attend." Scotland rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what he meant. "Ciao." He slowly walked away.

"Guidbye." The redhead bode him a farewell. He smirked when the Italian turned his back against him and searched for his box with cigarettes one to find out that it was gone.

This time, Romano smirked in victory, waving the box like he was saying goodbye.

"Wha-?" He said confused, he few moments later he progressed what the Italian had done to him, "Tha' sneaky wee bastard." He chuckled lowly and slumped against the wooded bench. Somehow, the nature reminded him of Romano; calm and unexpected.

* * *

This time, it was Scotland next to hold a meeting. He really was stressed to let this meeting run on wheels, hopefully everything would go smooth, but it wasn't—much to his disappointment. The least to say, it wasn't going vanilla and smooth like he prayed it to be, _nope_ , not even one bit. He sighed, and raked his gloved hand through his scarlet hair—he _really_ needed a smoke right now. He called that this meeting would continue in the morning, most nations nodded or grumbled in agreement—if they would be trapped in this conference room for an hour or worse, they would go completely insane and totally _livid_. He waited patiently for all the nations to gather their belongings and exited the room going wherever they want to. He stretched his muscles, saying contently when they popped back in their rightful places.

He saw Romano and England walking out the door together, underling talking to each other in hushed voices and they were the last to leave the conference room. His stomach twisted and churned uncomfortably, somehow, it made him feel sick, like he wanted to puke his guts out...

He raked a hand through his hair and gathered everything. He made sure to close and lock the conference room, he first dropped his stuff in his shared room with Canada, he gave a kind hello and ruffled his hair before exiting his room and made his way to the garden that should be desolated at this time—most nations must have gone somewhere or to the hotel's bar to hang around. Nobody would interrupt his alone time with his cigarette.

The Scot caressed the rose petals for awhile, admiring how well they were tended, the person who looked after the garden really _did_ put his love in it—you could see it in the flowers. He choosed a spot were he overlook the fountain. He looked in the sky, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, he searched in his trouser for his box of cigarettes before it was yet snatched away by the same person countless times before. Scotland stood back on his foot, he made a move to get his beloved cigarettes bad but Romano stopped him by putting his hand on his firm chest and trowed it away somewhere so that wouldn't be his problem anymore.

"Whit te fuck did ye do tha' for?!" The Scot exploded, his patience gone thin, anger radiating of his body.

"Stop doing it!" Romano shot back, already irritated.

"I's one of yer business what ah can or nae!" The furious redhead hollered, towering over the smaller man but the Italian stood his ground and didn't even flinched.

He crossed his arms, his face scrunched up in disdain and huffed indignantly, "Why do you smoke so much?!" He snapped, "You know smoke can affect us!"

"Ah addicted to taste, alright?!" Scotland responded back, his eyes blazing with fire.

The brunet grabbed a fistful of his navy uniform and pulled so that the Scot was at his height, their faces were so close together that the redhead could feel his moist earth ghosting his face, Romano inhaled sharply, "How about I make you addicted to something else entirely?" He suggested deviously, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

The Scot narrowed his eyes in suspicion and cocked his head to the side, searching in his eyes what he might do next. He expected almost everything but kissing him full on his lips was the last thing he would expect.

A matter of seconds, their lips moved in sync, the Scot pulled the Italian closer to his body. The brunet tiptoed so that he could reach him and the Scot bended over slightly. Romano licked at his underlip, asking entrance that he immediately gave without any sign of hesitation. The brunet tasted like coffee, vanilla and tomatoes—an odd combination but he enjoyed it all the more. They fought for dominance and it was Scotland who won, he mapped every corner and everything in his mouth. He moved his lips away, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses, he could smell a faint whiff of cologne, lavender, tomatoes and herbs that he could name or place even if he wanted to. He licked the tan skin before sinking his teeth in the soft, smooth and silk skin, nibbling and sucking on the spot. Romano let out a breathy moan, his eyes pressed tightly together. Scotland left a few more love bites before claiming the Italian's bruised lips again in a fierce yet passionate kiss. They parted for needed air, Romano rested his forehead against the Scot's firm chest, both panted heavily and Scotland had his arms securely around his slim waist.

One kiss was all he needed to make the redhead addicted to the smell and taste. He _yearned_ for more, _needed_ more or else he would go crazy.

His taste; it tasted familiar.

His scent; it smelled familiar.

All too familiar... his memory hazy and foggy.

"Ello, love." He greeted, smiling lovingly at his... _lover_.

Romano smiled, tears of happiness welled in his eyes, he latched on his neck making the Scot stumble in progress before he regained his footing and balance. The brunet whispered, "Welcome back, Alistair."

* * *

 **A.N.:**

 **Well,** **this is it! It's done and I have a lot of fun writing all the parts of it. I'm really satisfied with end result!**

 **Uhm, first thought was to make a one-shot and complete it. Then I have this brilliant idea of making various one-shots of the nations bad habits. The next one shot that I have in mind are as follows;**

 **South Italy: dangerous thoughts**

 **France: flirting**

 **England: daydreaming**

 **America: obsessions**

 **Russia: childish violence**

 **That's all I can come up with for now, I'm open for any request. You can pm or post a review.**

 **Hope you all enjoyed it.**

 **Sincerely,**

 **-JessicaStarCrossed**


	2. Norway: biting his fingernails

**A.N:**

 **This one-shot is dedicated for** **NekoRyuuKo and it's good that you stopped with your biting on your fingernails. ^^ Thank you _so_ much** **for all your reviews; Rebecca Frost, TrefleV and** **NekoRyuuKo! ^^**

 **pairing: DenNor (Denmark x Norway) later on.**

 **Genre: Romance (and humor?)**

* * *

 _It's not a good or a bad habit either, nobody stopped or restrained him for doing so, so he grew up with it. Actually, that was a lie, he told himself that. His family tried a lot of things to let him stop, they tried almost every method they could possibly think of, like; holding his hands, kissing his hands, throwing random objects to him, giving an object for him to hold or stuffing food in his mouth so that's occupied and none seemed to work all that well or they do for a certain amount of time. He would always pull his hand out their grasp or throw the object away or swallow the food—hey, nobody can object when it comes to free food, and certainly when it taste like heaven, oh~ Finland's cookies are absolutely the best._

Norway looked at his hands, his fingernails looked absolutely horrible. He sighed exasperatedly, he bit his fingernail again, it's a habit when he was a child—it sticked to him like glue.

Denmark frowned and sighed again, he took the Norwegian right hand in his own. The latter glared at him and wanted to stick his other left finger in his mouth but stopped when a cooky was shoved in his mouth. This time he glared at Finland who looked at him and smiled innocently. Norway rolled his eyes, and stuffed cookies in his mouth, munching on it slowly—trying to savour the wonderful taste. He continued listening to the meeting, stuffing cookies in his mouth stretched over the entire hour.

The nations sighed in relief when the hosts, the Italy brothers—Romano to be exactly, announced that it done for today and they could do whatever the fuck they want and if they want to go to drink they needed to trash someone's else bar but not from the hotel before shooing them all out.

On his way out, he bumped into England, his green eyes snapped open and smiled friendly, "Hello, mate," he greeted, "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine, Arthur." He answered and walked next to him, biting his fingernail again.

"I see that your fingernails are suffering." The Brit commented wryly, giving Norway a paper to hold.

The smaller blond sighed exasperatedly, studying his nails before responding, "They have known better days."

"If you want, I can put a spell so that you wouldn't to it anymore." The Brit suggested offhandedly.

The Norwegian pondered over the suggestion but shook his head, "You know I will find a spell to reverse it." He stated.

The island nations raked his gloved hand through his choppy blond hair and sighed, "You can if you want to."

" _If_ , I want to."

The blond rolled his eyes and scoffed.

They walked in silence, they reached the hotel bar together, they walked to where the other Nordics are sitting. They waved at the sight of them, Denmark gave England a bearhug and the shorter blond kicked the Danish brute and he released him with a pained wince and pouted slightly. "Don't you want to go to your lover?" Norway asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

The Brit smirked, "Someone jelly?" He teased.

Norway scoffed and crossed his arms, "In your dreams."

The Dane grinned when he realized why Norway was being defensive. He snickered.

"I'll see you later." England said, waving goodbye and looked for his lover and when he found him, the Brit gave him a surprise but passionate kiss that makes the latter blush like a tomato.

"So."

"So what?" Norway asked monotonously, but his voice held a slight annoyance in it. He bit his fingernail again, this time it was his left middle finger, like he was saying 'Fuck you.' unconscious or not.

"Are you not going to ask me?" The Dane questioned vaguely, his eyes looked expectantly. The rest of the Nordics laughed, also Norway's little brother who managed to snicker before paying attention to Liechtenstein; his girlfriend. Much to his dismay, he doesn't hate the female nation per say, in fact, he enjoyed her company and presence—it's just that he can't handle her big brother, probably never would, that make him bite on his finger harder, breaking his broken nail further before it was replaced with a cookie.

Denmark snapped his fingers impatiently.

Norway came back out his thoughts. He munched on the given sweet.

"Are you not going to answer my question?"

The Norwegian looked puzzled, what was he hinting to? He bit his other fingernail, thinking thoughtfully—a habit that he never could get rid off... Then, everything clicked, he mentally smacked himself but kept his cool façade on the outside. He coughed awkwardly, "Fine, I'll take you to see my fjords, but only on one condition." He deadpanned and pointed a finger to him.

The spiky blond nodded excitedly, the rest watched with a amused expression on their face or Sweden who was trying to hide it but failed at the Dane's cuteness.

The blond with glasses frowned temporarily, he's getting over his crush a bit by bit. Finland is a great help.

Finland glanced at his side, maybe he would notice what I feel about him. Maybe if I tried harder?

"I only will give you a tour if you're calm. Understand?"

Denmark fist-pumped the air, nodded energetic and rocked on his heels back and forth excitedly.

That, was _not_ the definition of being _calm_. He felt a migraine coming up and bit his fingernails again.

It was soon replaced with a glass.

He growled lowly, his grip around it tighten slightly but did not bear under the force.

Iceland waved it off, like he was dismissing something and smiled innocently. Sweet even.

Damned brat.

"Okay, it's a dato then!" He announced enthusiastically and beams at the flustered Norway. He waved and ran off to god knows where.

This time though, the given glass did broke under the pressure of his hand. The Norwegian couldn't say anything logically or rationally but stuttered all the while for finding the right response to shout at the idiotic Nordic country.

The other nations of their table merely laughed.

* * *

Norway was sitting on England's couch together with Romania, who smiled at him. He looked out the window, biting his fingernail nervously before somebody took his finger out his mouth and rubbed his hand with his gloved hand. Must be Romania.

"Nu," he said, shaking his head disapprovingly and tutted, "we just repaired your broking nails, Norvegia." He scolded and Norway pouted.

England came back with a tray, three teacups and a hot pot of tea on it together with the sugar cubes and the milk in a small silver can. The Brit eyed their forms and sighed disappointed, "Stop doing that." He demanded calmly and setting the tray on the classic coffee table.

"So why did you called us here, Arthur." Romania chirped cheerfully, happy to see his friend back in such a long time even if it was just three days ago.

"We saw each other three days ago." The slight irked Norwegian deadpanned, his voice serious and monotone like always.

The Romanian nation pouted childishly, "You're no fun." He whined.

The blond rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out and tried (really hard) to wiggle his hand out the strawberry blond hand but he tighten his grip furthermore and smiled at him, a mischievous glint in those red eyes. He letted a low growl escape from his mouth and stuck his thumbnail in his mouth which was why England took his other hand—and made the Norwegian even more pissed and annoyed.

"Well, I do have a reason to let you all come." England began slowly, he gave Norway's hand to Romania to hold for a sec before retrieving his spell book and coming back again to the living room. He flipped through the pages until he founded the page he marked a day ago or so—he can't seem to remember when. He handed them his magic book, both of them peered in int curiously before they both frowned, "I see that your already noticed it."

They both nodded, thinking thoughtfully their eyebrows scrunched up, none said something yet. The mischievous blond cleared his throat, "Why is this spell wrong, Arthur?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the book suspiciously.

"Honestly, I don't know either, Vlad." He muttered in response, sinking back in his comfortable couch. "It was just _there_."

"There?" Norway repeated like it was a question and raised one of his eyebrow, "It doesn't seem right." He deadpanned.

"No, it doesn't." Romania said, poking the book like it maybe would come to life—that wouldn't surprise them, after all, they do have a living book. "So what are your going to do with it?"

They both pondered thoughtfully; England closed his eyes, Romania tapped his finger on his chin and Norway stuck his nail inside his mouth munching on it only to be removed the Brit and munched in his right index finger.

Romania snapped his fingers "a lightbulb popped above his head", he made a nation with his hand for them to come closer and whispered his idea—why they were whispering, they didn't know and so did Romania because there was no one else here except for them, so what's the point in it?

They prepared themselves, each donned a black long cloak that hid most of their face, a mystical pentagram in the center and the book laying in the middle of it, candles in each point and took in each other hand and sat in a circle. They chanted incoherent sentences, raising and dropping their voice, they spoke in a total different language.

At that moment, England's lover decided to pay him a visit, he opened the door with the spare key he got from him, he immediately turned 180° when he saw what kind of display that was unfolding in front of him, he closed the door again whilst muttering, "Not going to deal with this fucking mystic shit. Nope." Romano walked away and left him a message for when they were done with their "magic spell" or what the fuck ever they were doing.

* * *

Norway bit his fingernail in annoyance, the stupid Dane is late. Not all too surprising, either way, he was the one who planned this "dato", at least, try to come here on time. Stupid idiot, he murmured under his breath. And if that's the cue Denmark came cycling on his bike and parked right next to the annoyed Norway.

Norway crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the idiot in front of him.

Denmark averted his eyes, focusing on the calm and peaceful nature while rubbing his neck nervously and grinned sheepishly. He didn't have time to mutter a sorry when he felt a finger jabbing his chest, "One day," the Norwegian pointed his left index finger accusingly at the fidgeting blond, "one day, I will curse you and I will be the one who's going to laugh at your misfortune." He said darkly, an eerie aura clung to him.

The Dane chuckled nervously, he broke in cold sweat and tried to laugh it off but he didn't deny the fact that he could feel shivers ran through his spine. "Let's go! We don't have all the day." The blond steered the conversation to another direction.

Noway's murderous aura distressed but came back in full force after a few seconds, " _You_ ," jab, "were the one who's late." A dreaded silence, "Follow me, idiot." He commanded, taking course to the mountain.

Denmark cycled until he was next to Norway, listening to his explanations of how this was build, the typical tourist stuff but with more accurate history. After all, Denmark was know for being a bike country, his people did weird things coming with really special?—inventions but they were very creative and fun to watch and try out.

The Norwegian stopped at a house middle in the mountains, explaining that tourist could rent the houses and stay there for a few days before continuing their trip. Even if camping in the nature isn't illegal in Norway, but is very dangerous and you need to do it at your own risk so that's why most tourist prefer to rent the house.

He huffed a pug of hair, "Come on, let's go." He raised his head to look at the sky more specifically to the sun, it's almost at her highest point in must be midday soon before cycling away from the house going to their next destination.

The Norwegian leaded him to some sort of clearing, it was some kind of big edge too it really had a breathtaking view on the river. The Dane parked his bicycle against a nearby tree and leaned over the edge and smiled subtly. He really did felt at ease here.

"Don't lean too far or you'll fall." Denmark beamed happily, the blond really did care about his wellbeing, "I won't jump down after you when you fall, idiot, it would be too bothersome." Ah, lige meget.

He stopped looking at the nature and faced Norway who was busy laying the food on the ground. "Do you not wan to eat it?" He asked in a monotonous voice, raising his eyebrow.

Denmark laughed—in Norway's opinion—obnoxiously and planted his ass next to Norway, popping his personal bubble. The Norwegian bit his nails again, what to do, what to do?

The Dane took his hand in his own, stuffing his and the other's mouth with the delicious food. _Damn him_. He chewed on his other fingers but that was easily replaced with something for him to hold and Finland's goodnesses in his mouth.

"So, what's our next destination?" He asked curiously. After all, it's nice and the person he's with was even better than the nature itself and that was already saying much because it was simply breathtaking.

"The Nordkapp." Norway answered, "It's going to be a long trip from here. And, it's a special day."

Denmark tilted his head to the side, what special day? He pondered over the vague sentence but he could come up with any useful conclusions. He shrugged, the Norwegian was always a mysterious one to begin with, anyway, he shouldn't be too worried about it.

They stayed an hour on the same place, Norway explained everything the Dane should know and occasionally biting his fingernail when Denmark was paying attention to him and instead looked elsewhere. He seemed to read his thoughts and capture the hands in his own while laughing—in a mocking way that irked to Norwegian to no end. Oh, he will find the suitable curse for him...you know what they say, "Karma's a bitch."

"Come on." Norway's voice snapped Denmark out of his daydreaming, "If we want to be on time then more your ass." He didn't give the Dane the time to reply and was already stuffing the remaining food in backpack we carried with him for this supposed "dato".

They made their way to the top of the mountain, it's going to be a long climb because Norway didn't take the tourist but the hardest path but surrounded with nature. He made his way to the top with ease like it was the back of his hand.

When they made it on the top on the large plateau it was already around eight o'clock and the stars and the moon was coming out. The sky was a canvas of black and navy blue and light dots adorning the dark sky along with grey clouds, the sun made place for the moon to shine in its full glory.

"Are we on time?" Denmark inquired. It was night time, if they took the tourist route they should be here before sunset but the Norwegian _insisted_ —more like threatening to curse him if he didn't comply—that they took his route which was marvelous but, what kind of trick did he have on his sleeve.

"Yeah." Norway looked up to the sky, and made his way to the North Cape and sat down with his right leg dangled off the cliff. Denmark narrowed his eyes but shrugged the feeling of discomfort away and sat next to the blond. He looked up and saw what made his mouth go slack at the breathtaking sight displayed in before his eyes.

He knew even if he saw the aura borealis a lot already that didn't meant that he isn't surprised by the wonderful sight. The canvas was painted with thousands of shining stars, the colour green mingled with shades of purple and blue, he saw red traces clinging to the blue lines. Beautiful.

But the most thing that stood out was Norway, he had a subtly but genuine smile on his face and his eyes reflected the painted night sky. it was even more breathtaking...

Norway seemed to catch him staring at him and blushed, a pink tint on his cheeks and looked back up. "Thanks, it really _is_ special—" just like you.

"Yeah, whatever."

Denmark chuckled lightly, "How about I show you my gratitude?" He said lightheartedly, a small smile of his face not making eye contact with the curious blond.

Norway nodded, making the larger blond smile even wider, "Close your eyes." He instructed and the latter obliged.

Norway could feel his moist breath on his pale face, he blushed ever darker, a pair of lips collided on his soft lips. The kiss didn't last longer than a mere seconds much to someone's annoyance.

He flashed him a lopsided grin.

The Norwegian opened his eyes, for the first time, he saw colours instead of the monochrome view, the colours became visible he could name it all and saw all the tint that there was. He smiled ad kissed the idiot, this time tough...probably.

Maybe. _Maybe_...there is something that could make him addicted to something new. Maybe, this is a good habit because he doesn't think that it's bad, and other people seems to enjoy it—Denmark. At least, his nails wouldn't be suffering anymore but his heart and lips do but that's a good thing after all...

* * *

 **A.N:**

 **Yay, it's done! I really hope that you enjoyed it—and you,** **NekoRyuuKo to be more specific.**

 **So, there were hints of other pairings and personally, I don't really think this falls under the category "humor" but I'm bad at** **anyway. *sulks***

 **Uhm, wait, the translations! Yeah, almost forgot about that! Ehehe... *sweat drops***

 _ **Danish:**_

 _dato -_ date

 _lige meget -_ never mind

 _ **Norwegian:**_

 _Nordkapp_ \- North Cape

 **That's all I guess. Anyways, thank you! And again, I'm open for any kind of requests! Please don't be afraid to ask me something, after all, something is always better than anything! ^^**

 **Sincerely**

 **-JessicaStarCrossed**


	3. Romano: dangerous thoughts

**A.N.:**

 **Hello again, this one is about Romano, yay, and I really love to let his insecurities shine and actually make him feel loved and needed, because be serious, this tsundere is so** ** _lovable_! **

**Pairing: EngMano (England x Romano, my favourite OTP)**

 **Genre(s): Romance, angst, hurt/comfort**

* * *

 _Romano had a tendency to let his mind make thoughts; dangerous thoughts. Ever since his childhood, a voice in the back of his mind always repeats the same thing, always, it always stays there—it was the root of his insecurities. He never could shrug the feeling off, he always thought he had a second person in his body who controls his mind. The voice would pop out suddenly, saying things that he can't handle...things...that are true. He would grab something in his hand, starts trembling that's the first stage; if you're quick enough you can make him snap out of it by either hitting him hard or pouring cold water on him. The second stage is when he starts covering his ears and muttering incoherent sentence that nobody could make out but one thing is sure, the sentence "Fallo smettere, ti prego." would be repeated numerous time, you either can wake him up by shaking him roughly back and forth or worse he would go in the third stage. The third stage is when he would scream everything his mind says and every responses he would give to it, tears would be streaming down his face and then the nations know what was bottled inside him, and it isn't nice—most nations prefer to stay away so that they wouldn't hear his screams and the look of agony and pain on his face—and the only thing you can do is to do nothing, and let it stop by itself. Small outburst happened frequently when he was young, but now when he became older, it became worse and worse by each breakdown he got._

 _His family, lover and friends are there when he "wake" out of it and opts to stay and stick with him for the whole day, comforting in the best way possible without confronting him, they would switch so that he never is alone when he's so fragile and always saying "You know we love you right?", he never says something back, Romano never did—maybe because he didn't believe them? He never mentioned anything about it, he would avoid the subject like a madman._

Romano took a sip of his coffee— _if_ it even can be considerate as coffee, it tasted more like water than anything else, fucking Americans. He absentmindedly payed attention to the host, America, his eyes already on half-mast. He pointed some keys out to make his boring presentation a bit manageable and, well, less boring and plain. He had his hands folded on the large meeting table, he sat next to England and the other was France—he was squashed between two blonds that looked over his shoulder for some reason, he just ignored their presences entirely. The brunet looked across from him, Prussia and Veneziano doing lovey-dovey couple things, disgusting.

 ** _You're_ disgusting. **

He flinched, biting the inside of his mouth and his grip tighten around his hands. It's _him_ again.

 _I'm not_.

 **Yes, you are, look at how you look at him. _Disgusting_. **

_How, do I look at him?! I did nothing._

 **Exactly.**

 _...What?_

 **You're nothing.**

 _I-I'm not! You're lying!_

 **Really?**

 _S-sì._

 **Let me tell you the truth.**

 _You don't need to, I already know._

 **Then I don't need to tell you that you're a useless piece of shit that doesn't deserve to be alive, you're the shadow that clings to Italy and the part that nobody needs.**

Romano didn't hear the voice anymore in the back of his mind but that doesn't meant that he wouldn't come back again.

England wanted to say something to his angel but saw him visibly trembling, he frowned warily. He did a mental check up. Trembling, quiet and the grip that the Italian was holding his hands looked very tight, the Brit could almost see his fingernails breaking in his soft skin. Large and loud alarm bells ringed in his head.

"Romano!" England shouted loudly, drawing the nations attention to him, some nations widen their eyes—knowing exactly what was happening at the moment. He turned the brunet so that he was facing him, griping his shoulders tightly, he could see blank eyes and a pained look on his lover's face. _Shite_ , he needed to act fast, pouring cold water was out of the question, he might be to late and Romano would go in stage two. The blond shoved Romano in France's arms and the older blond hooked his arms under the brunet's arms, closing his eyes and waiting for the punch.

England muttered a quick 'sorry' and punched his angel in his stomach.

The Italian bent over from the impact, but snapped out his—their?—thoughts, gasping for air. He coughed some blood out, his breath ragged.

"Romano!" He could faintly hear his family members and friends shout out in the same time and rushing to his side.

His mind was fuzzy and hazy, it felt like the word was spinning and there was black dots covering his eyesight... Everything went black...

What's happening?

He passed out.

Romano fluttered his eyes open, letting them adjust to the lighting in the room, by the look of it, the sun is setting down.

He saw America sleeping in the armchair next to his bedside, France was reading a book quietly on the couch; not noticing that the Italian was awake and Heracles sleeping next to him soundly. The Greek snored softly, the brunet pushed his brown bangs away that made him shot up wide awake, alerting everyone in the room. "Adelfòs, you're awake." Heracles muttered softly, warily.

"That's me." Romano joked, smiling a bit.

They didn't bought it, they know when his smile was fake. "What did it say, Lovi?" America asked, he didn't want to poke his nose in somebody's business, but, Romano was his best friend.

"Where is everyone?" Romano questioned, changing the subject just by hearing it. He always does that, avoiding _that_ topic like a plague.

America sighed and raked a hand through his blond locks, messing his hair so it was sticking out almost everywhere. "You know we love you right?" He said, he smiled subtly.

 **He's lying, all of them are.**

The Italian, bit the inside of his mouth, the voice, he could hear it clearly... It sounded like... _him_...that voice...belongs...to _him_... He can't breakdown now. He needed to find up some excuse, and it's needed to be believable. "I'm going to take a shower." He rose from the bed he was laying in, he didn't recognised this room, and made his way to the bathroom, nobody made a move to stop him. Just like I wanted.

They all nodded, looking suspicious because of his behaviour but didn't say anything about it, they know he wanted some time for himself—to collect himself. They hated, loathed it how he would seclude himself from them, even if they want to help and isolate himself in his own little messed up world. He never accepted help from them, always saying that he was bothering them and was being a nuisance. He's not, Romano was so much more, he meant lot to them. They loved him, but how can they help when he pushed them away?

When he was inside the bathroom safely without somebody questioned his weird and suspicious attitude, he sighed in relief. The Italian made sure to lock the door properly so that no one could some inside uninvited. He leaned against the cold door, closing his eyes.

 **They never loved you.**

"Nessuno potrà mai amarmi." He whispered softly, looking in the mirror. His breath hitched at what he saw, he looked away and clenched his fist. He let his clothes drop on the tile cold floor, stepping inside the lukewarm water. He looked at himself in the reflection the wall of the shower made, tracing his fingers on the battle scars...and the scars he inflicted on himself. The huge door to his dark memories opened and revealed his past, the present and who knows...the future...

He cried, letting his holded tears rolling freely from his face mingled with warm water form the shower. Romano crouched, hugging his knees while he sobbed.

 **Nobody can help you.**

" _Io so._ " He responded, bitterness lacing his words. He never bothered to name the voice in his head, because it was simple...it was _him,_ and nobody else.

On the other side of the door.

The door opened, a head with blond locks poked inside their room, curiously, "Where is he." England asked.

"He's taking a shower." Greece answered simply, yawning again and prepared to drift back to sleep, making himself comfortable on the soft bed.

"Oh." The blond blinked.

"'e was acting strange." A French voice informed him. He the Frenchman looked bored, reading his book without glancing up. England saw how he griped the book hard, his fingers would occasionally twitch and his blue-amethyst eyes would flicker at the door where Romano was in.

"Yeah, he's been there for a long time." America said, his hand were folded into fist, his face was shadowed but he could catch a flash of despair and anxiety in those sky blue eyes.

"How long." The Brit asked, slightly panicked. They all were, shit.

"I don't know." The younger blond gritted his teeth.

"We didn't look at the time." France continued, the grip on his book tighten.

"Le petit prince?" England mused aloud, "Isn't it a little bit cliché, frog?" He teased.

"It's a classic, black sheep of Europe."

Greece knocked lightly on the door, his fist tapping rhythmically on the door—they didn't saw him waking up. The Greek didn't got any response, they were alarmed. They know what happened if Romano doesn't have anyone to talk to, the voice will come back—they experienced it countless time, it's only simple method and it worked efficiently thus far. When the brunet would think, they would make sure to time it, they won't let him think longer for two minutes or otherwise it would pop up again, they were always wary and protecting... Romano always has somebody next to him, they always do that, they agreed to it—all of them did—because they don't want to see it again, _that_ face, it breaks them _apart_ because it reminded them how helpless, useless and how pathetic they were...they couldn't do anything and it teared them apart, torn into pieces.

GReece knocked louder, his his eyes looked desperate.

The door unlocked and opened slowly, The Italian looked up, his dull eyes became more livelier by every seconds, "Sì, fratello?" He asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Aplá ton élencho epáno se sas." He answered, watching his expression, observing the Italian half-nation.

The brunet noted, understand what he meant, "He didn't came back." Romano informed them. A lie. He smiled bitterly on the inside, it's the only thing he's good at, lying to himself and to the person who cared for him—and it hurt him too...but it's for the best. "Do you have any spare clothes?" He asked.

"Here you go, love." England said, handing the brunet the bag with clothes. He hugged the Italian—he did not protest, weird enough, he always did that—and kissed his forehead, "Are you okay, love?"

"I'm fine." Romano grumbled, letting his bangs fall for his eyes and wiggled himself out the warm embrace and shutting the door yet again.

The Brit sighed and raked his hand through his choppy blond hair. This will be a long day.

While on the other side of the door, a different scenario played.

The Italian leaned against the door, "Almost caught." He murmured to no one in particular. He sighed, dried his hair and brushed it so that it was neatly tamed—and the curl irritated him to no end, damn that stupid piece of shit—putted his boxers short on, a white T-shirt and black washed jeans. It was something simple and comfortable and yet he looked like a hot male model—he's Italian, what else do you think he is? He didn't dare to look at his appearance in the mirror, he was afraid of what he might see, he never looked at his reflection unless it was really necessary—Romano doesn't even have a mirror inside his small cozy house in Naples or Sicily.

He opened the door just in time to see two ray of sunshine bluffing to him whilst exclaiming at the same time, "Lovi~, food is ready." in a really annoying high pitched voice. The older Italian groaned and covered his eyes, not wanting to see the balls of sunshine coming inside the room, great, just what he needed right now (not).

"Ve~ fratellone!" Veneziano shouted cheerfully, clutching his waist and clung to him like a goddamn snake—but a cute one.

"We made your favourite food, Roma~!" Spain chirped happily, hugging the dark Italian along with the northern Italian.

Romano groaned loudly and was slight irritated. He tried wiggling himself out of their hug, it was suffocating and smothering him—he didn't like the feel of it, it made him feel _weird_. He managed to escape his death in the form of Spain and Veneziano—two overly affectionated, optimistic and bubbly persons. He ducked under their next suffocating hug and hid behind the first and best person, peeking from the said person's back.

"Dude, don't hug him like that." America scolded, standing in front of Romano in a protective manner, frowning slightly before smiling hardcore again.

The "scared" Italian kicked him in the chin, muttering, "You're not better." and rolled his eyes.

The American whined like a kicked puppy and pouted.

"Come eat with us, fratello!" He dragged the protesting Italian with him, he smiled cheerfully but had a wary glint in his eyes, slightly studying his big brother's expression and body language. The bubbly Italian pushed his fratello in the chair much to the latter's annoyance. He almost immediately digged in when he saw what kind of food it was on the table, it practically screamed at him to eat them and he did it much vigour like a starved beast.

The other nations looked at each other and observed Romano's behaviours. They started eating two, talking to each other occasionally speaking to him.

Whne they were done, Romano looked conflicted about something, they waited patiently.

 **Tell them.**

He sighed and closed his eyes, looking down. He opened them again, the dull look back in his eyes—they were alarmed. "It's like a spiderweb." He explained vaguely referring to something that isn't there, "The harder you struggle, the harder you will get caught in it. But," he paused slightly, thinking about how to say his next words carefully, "I don't seem to struggle, yet, I drown farther away in the spiderweb," another pause and he sighed, "the spiderweb that is my thoughts—." _that is me._ The brunet finished, standing up and shoving his chair back in the rightful place and walked calmly away, out the door and vanished from their watchful eyes.

Letting his words sink in to their brains, progressing everything he said and that made them fear for the worst.

* * *

England strutted down the corridor, his left hand in his trouser pocket and the other one holding a book 'Hamlet'. It was a tragedy, it reminded him of something but dismissed it absentmindedly. He stopped dead in his tracks, when was the last time he saw Romano? He shook his head, the said brunet should be with America and Greece, did they not mention something about Greece cooking food for them? They were in a meeting... he shrugged his shoulder, he should be bothered by it, yet...something felt _wrong_. He couldn't place it. He let his instinct take over his body, he didn't noticed that he turned in the wrong corridor because he was engulfed by the book, it was different but he shrugged it off, not paying it no heed.

The more he ventured in this dark corridor, he could hear a voice that seemed quite familiar but he could deduce from whom. He was curious, he could here the person sobbing and muttering incoherent sentences that he couldn't understand by each step, he could hear the voice clearly. He frowned, "Fallo smettere, ti prego." His eyes widened, the same sentence, dammit and broke down running towards the noise, hoping that he would be there on time. Please, for the love of the Queen, don't let me be late, he begged— _pleaded_.

He saw the person he was searching for in a crouched position, leaning against the wall and covering his ears while tears streamed down his face.

 **Useless.**

 _Stop..._

 **Good for nothing, you can't do anything right!**

 _N-no, stop._

 **Stupid brat!**

 _I can't take it anymore!_ Fallo smatter.

 **Why are you _alive_?! Be _gone_! Be _dead_!**

 _Stop, make it stop! Please._

"Romano!" England shouted desperately, shaking him wild back and forth. "Wake up! Step out of it!" He yelled him in his face, shaking him frantically.

Romano slowly opened his eyes, waking up, revealing those pained eyes, red and puffy from the tears. The Italian latched himself to England, crying in his shoulders, sobbing and wailing, pleading for him to stop it, end it—by that he meant... _kill him_. England can't do that, he never could hurt someone this important to him, and he didn't want to loose Romano either.

Uncontrollable sobs wracked through the Italian's body and the heavy tears seeping in his green uniform jacket. England cradled him, like he was holding a fragile child—Romano was not a child far from it he's a grown up adult but very fragile like glass, always on the verge of breaking, always on the edge of shattering. He ran his hand through the soft silken brown hair and snaked his left arm around the slim waist, holding him protectively and securely—he hoped that he could wash away all the pain, sorrow and agony. For the first time in centuries he felt the need to protect and love somebody. How could this feisty Italian melt his cold ice heart, make it flutter like a love sick high school teenager with hormones and ache when he saw his spitfire's in pain, physical or mental pain—that didn't matter for the blond, it's the same, he wanted to protect him in the best of his abilities.

England was a cold and apathetic nation and always will be. But he couldn't live seeing his dear beloved in so much pain and agony while fighting his own inner demons, conflicted with his mind. Romano was fighting a battle of his own and nobody could help or reach a helping hand to him to hold on—it made them feel useless, helpless not knowing what to do, what can they do? Romano didn't want their help! He had voiced it loud and clearly many times already.

Romano pushed them away, isolated himself from the rest—the people who wanted to help him—and completely shut his heart from them. He made sure to not let them enter the "Huge Door". He lived in his little messed up world, he murmured something about black and white. Is this how his view of the world was? Black and white? Monochrome?

The Brit pulled him flush against his body and sung an old lullaby "All Through The Night" while caressing the brown locks. He could feel the sobs gradually stop and the tears seemed to stop running down his face. He tilted Romano's face and looked down, seeing the peaceful face. Romano would occasionally grimace or grunt in pain and it made the blond feel pain—his heart ached so badly.

How could he be of help?

How could he help Romano with fighting his demons?

The answer is nothing. He— _they_ could do anything, it's up for Romano to let them in. To accept their help.

England fetched in his trouser for his phone, he dialed a number—he may be the hist but he would _not_ leave Romano in this condition, he wouldn't forgive himself for doing so. "Hello Germany?"

 _Ja?_

"I want you cancel the meeting in my absence." He requested, his face gone grim and his eyes darkened.

 _Is it_ it _again?_

England didn't answer the question but he kew that the German understand him clear and perfectly. "Thank you, Germany."

 _It is the last thing I could do. Were you on time?_

"Yeah," a pause, "I'll see you later." He bode his farewell.

 _Bye._

He placed his novel under the Italian's hands and carried him bridal style. England adjusted Romano so he was laying in a more comfortable position and walked to their shared room on the second floor, lucky for the Brit he didn't need to take the elevator since they were already on the right floor.

England opened their shared room and placed Romano on their bed, pushing the brown bags out the way and stared at his face, "I love you so much, do you know that?" He muttered softly.

* * *

Seventeen March was the Italy brother's unification, they were celebrating it with their families and friends and beloved. Most of the things were going smoothly like putting butter on a toast.

They were barbecuing in their backyard, they had a house in the Roman countryside. It was a beautiful sight. They both looked so peaceful and at ease _especially_ Romano.

"Roma~" Spain voice boomed in his eardrums making him shriek and hit the stupid Spaniard because he was being so loud and such a nuisance. " _Aì_ , that's not nice." He whined, rubbing the sore spot.

The Italian rolled his eyes, and scowled, "What do you want, idiot?" He questioned impatiently, crossing his arms. "I don't have time for your bullshit."

Spain just grinned, not entirely fazed by his profanities, "Let's join the rest of the party outside, Hermano!" He dragged the said Italian by his arms but Romano struggled to get free by showing profanities that could make a a grown man cry from it alone and a sailer jealous.

He stayed rooted on his place, "Stop dragging me, bastard!" He exclaimed, punching the Spaniard in his right arm with his free fist. He shooed him away, pushing through the door of the backyard and slammed it in his face.

Romano sighed, closing his eyes and clenched his hands into fist, "Please...not again."

Back in the backyard a group of nations gathered around the long table, celebrating the unification alone with the party people only waiting for one more person.

"Ve~ this is so fun!" Veneziano exclaimed happily, cheering loudly before recalling an important fact, "Where's fratello?"

"He's in the kitchen, saying that he wanted to prepare something." America answered, beating Spain to it even though he didn't know the "prepare something" part.

After a minute, they dropped everything, blood draining off their faces, both equally pal of a sheet and it seems that Prussia was even whiter than before. They heard a loud clanging and a scream that followed mere seconds after. They dropped everything they did like it was something hot—not caring how breakable it was—and rushed to the kitchen. America broke it almost out its hangings. Romano was crunched against a wall, shards everywhere and blood pouting out his freshly made wounds.

"Stop!" Romano screeched, covering his ears and shaking his head frantically.

 **You're nothing! Just accept it! Face your demons...Useless piece of shit.** The sentence was followed with maniacal lather erupting from the older Italian's mouth only they know it was not him.

"Please. Fallo smettere!" He pleaded.

England bit the inside of his lips, he looked away from the scene, not wanting to see the state his lover was in - he couldn't handle the situation.

 **Die! Why won't you just die?! They—we don't you!**

Tears poured out his closed eyes, not wanting to believe anything of it—but why did he? "I can't take it! Stop!" He screamed on top of his lungs, pleading almost pathetically, "Stop it, Romano!"

They petrified, chocked... All this time..? It was him, Romano that cutted the wound deeper..? All this time, they didn't know...

England had enough of it ad walked to his lover, his _everything_ , crouching to his level. He engulfed him in a warm embrace, sitting on the floor with Romano o his lap, crying miserably on his shoulder. He stroked his brown tresses, hoping that the soothing words would reach the Italian's ears—hoping,praying that everything he said wouldn't be gong into vain because he meant everything single syllable he uttered, every word that came from his mouth.

After a while Romano cautiously opened his eyes again, peeking from his half lidded eyes. He looked up to see those memorizing green eyes, captivated by those depths that held so much love and adoration in. "A-Arthur..?" He whimpered softly, tears rapidly streaming down his face.

"I always be here love; by your side foe until the end of times." He said genuinely, meaning everything that he said. He hugged him tighter, "I'm not letting you go."

"We won't dare to, Roma, you're precious to us to." America said, smiling his million-dollar smile.

"Ve~ who else would be there to take for me, fratello?"

Greece yawned, although he's alert, wary, "You're there to kick my ass when I'm being too lazy."

Germany blushed and nodded, not wanting to admit that fact that Romano was indeed a good friend of his.

Prussia snickered, grinning like a madman but his ruby eyes held sincerity.

Spain patted his head, smiling fatherly, "I won't forgive myself if I would lose you."

Romano looked as pale as a ghost, confusion in his natural eyes, "W-why..?" He mutters, not understanding why they would go this far for rubbish like him. Why would you care for me..? I don't understand.

They smiled and grinned, "That's because we love you!" They shouted simultaneously.

Romano blinked once, twice and even trice. He blushed a deep cherry red, and smiled after such a long time, tears of happiness spilled from his eyes, "I-I guess." He mumbled, he buried his head in the crook of England's neck, tracing a finger over his deep and long cut.

They beamed, for the first time...Romano acknowledged them, letting them in his hear to fight his inner demons with him. A battle between yourself is never easy but if you have such caring and wonderful people surrounded you...you'll make it to the finish line...

" **Love** is an **unconditional commitment** to an **_imperfect person_**.

To love somebody isn't jus a strong feeling.

It's a **decision** , a **judgment** and a **promise**."

-Unknown

* * *

 **A.N:**

 **Ah, it took me long enough. *tears* I'm in tears, I mean it! Whaa, I can't handle the feels! Remember why I want to wrote this again..? Oh yes, I know why again. Hope you enjoy this...now if you would excuse me. *stands up and goes to a dark depress corner to cry in* Why?! Why?! *sobs***

 **-JessicaStarCrossed**


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